Through Smoky Embers
by ClaireMF
Summary: This begins from the third chapter of 50 Shades of Grey told from Christian's perspective. EL James included the first and second chapters in Christian's POV at the end of 50 Shades Freed and I thought I'd just continue it. Enjoy.
1. Chapter 1

Chapter 1

I'm sitting at the table in the living room of my suite at the Heathman Hotel. My laptop is open in front of me and I'm performing the banalities of my job; responding to emails, checking on shipments etc. I more than once find my mind unintentionally wandering to the enigma that is Miss Anastasia Steele. I can't get the image of the way she looked today out of my head. She was all tight jeans, petite waist and luscious brunette hair. Although unquestionably more beautiful than any of my previous subs, that isn't as far as my attraction to her goes and I'm left wondering what it is about her that has my mind in such a mess. Is it her smart mouth? Her intellectual mind? Her shyness? I just can't put my finger on it, all I know is I want to see her again.

My BlackBerry buzzes on the table next to me and I swoop it up and answer curtly.

"Grey."

"Err… Mr. Grey? It's Anastasia Steele."

I smile. She sounds breathless and slightly nervous. The tone of her voice does things to me and I have to compose myself for a moment before I respond.

"Miss Steele. How nice to hear from you." Well, that was the understatement of the century. I'm over the moon. Ecstatic even. This means I'll see her again! Wait, what the fuck am I doing? I'm acting like a damn schoolgirl, that's what. I do not get excited because a girl calls. I am Christian Trevelyan-Grey.

"Err – we'd like to go ahead with the photo-shoot for the article. Tomorrow, if that's okay. Where would be convenient for you, sir?"

My breath hitches at the sound of her calling me 'sir' and I can only hope that soon she will be doing so a lot more often. I'm smiling widely when I reply.

"I'm staying at the Heathman in Portland. Shall we say, nine thirty tomorrow morning?"

"Okay, we'll see you there," she says, still in that breathy tone of voice.

"I look forward to it, Miss Steele." Another understatement. She hangs up.

At nine twenty-five the next morning, I get a call from reception to inform me that Miss Steele has arrived and which room number they're setting up in. I thank the woman on the phone and make my way down to the room. I can't quash the excitement building up in me at the mere thought of seeing Anastasia again. Jeez, no woman has had this effect on me. Ever. And I'm only now beginning to understand what this means. But all I can offer her is a Dom/sub relationship. That's all I'm willing to give and I'm not even sure if she'll go for it, in fact, I doubt she will, but, God, I hope she does. That's the only type of relationship I want, isn't it?

I shake the thoughts from my brain as I arrive at the room. I open the door and my gaze immediately finds hers. I don't take my eyes away from her face as she slowly looks me up and down. I'm dressed in my usual: grey flannel pants and a white linen shirt. My hair is still slightly damp from the shower I took not too long ago and, at the moment, I'm glad, because Miss Steele is looking at it as if she wants to run her fingers through it. And, damn if I don't want her to. Her hands are down by her sides and her fingers involuntarily twitch. She probably doesn't even realise she's doing it. I smirk at her.

Taylor comes into the suite behind me and quietly shuts the door.

"Miss Steele, we meet again." I extend my hand and she does the same. My fingers close around her delicate hand and the pull I felt when we first shook hands shoots through me. Her erratic breathing tells me she feels it too. I let go.

"Mr Grey, this is Katherine Kavanagh," she mutters, waving her hand in the general direction of her friend. Ah, yes, the persistent Katherine. She looks at me with menacing eyes and I get the feeling she already doesn't like me. I'm not sure why. Perhaps she's just a good judge of character. She is definitely good looking. She has strawberry-blonde hair and shrewd green eyes that shamelessly assess me. Unquestionably gorgeous, yet I send a silent 'thank you' to a deity that it was Anastasia that literally fell into my life and not her friend.

"The tenacious Miss Kavanagh. How do you do?" I ask, giving her a small smile. "I trust you're feeling better? Anastasia said you were unwell last week," I say as I extend my hand. She grips it firmly and shakes, without breaking eye contact, showing her confidence.

"I'm fine, thank you, Mr Grey. Thank you for taking the time to do this."

Thank you for being ill last week.

"It's a pleasure," I tell her and turn around to look at Ana once again. She blushes. Yes, it's most definitely a pleasure.

"This is José Rodriguez: our photographer," she says, smiling fondly at the young man. He smiles affectionately back at her. What the fuck is this? Oh, shit, is he her boyfriend? If Welch overlooked something as crucial as this, he is definitely getting an earful. Fuck, fuck, fuck. I maintain my cool demeanour despite wanting to throw something, preferably at José.

"Mr Grey," he says, nodding politely.

"Mr Rodriguez," I reply in what can only be described as an arctic tone. "Where would you like me?" I ask.

Katherine takes over at this point, clearly the one in charge. "Mr Grey – if you could sit here, please? Be careful of the lighting cables. And then we'll do a few standing, too," she says, indicating for me to sit on a chair near the wall. The kid in charge of lighting directs a spotlight at me, almost blinding me in the process. He quickly mutters an apology. The kid stands back with Anastasia while the photographer begins to snap away. Why I've agreed to do this, I just don't know. Actually, yes, I do. I know exactly the reason and she's standing a few feet in front of me. The shoot is rather tedious as I'm instructed to move this way and that. For goodness sake, how many pictures do they need? I catch Anastasia's eye twice and both times she quickly turns away as that beautiful shade of pink creeps across her perfect skin.

After a while, the photographer declares that he has enough pictures. Thank fuck. Now, to more important matters. I'm thanked again and I shake hands with Katherine and José.

"I look forward to reading the article, Miss Kavanagh." I turn to Anastasia who is standing silently near the door. "Will you walk with me, Miss Steele?" I ask her.

"Sure," she replies, looking anything but sure.

"Good day to you all," I tell the others. My gaze catches the photographer's as I turn toward the exit and his scowl deepens. If she isn't his girlfriend, he definitely wants her to be. That won't be happening. I open the door and gesture for Anastasia to vacate the room before me. I exit as does Taylor, who is following closely behind me. Anastasia is fidgeting nervously with her hands.

"I'll call you, Taylor," I tell him, effectively dismissing him. Anastasia looks even more nervous when I turn back to her. Maybe she can sense that my tastes are for less conventional fare and that I'd like to do things to her she's probably never even considered. I hope she'll consider them for me.

"I wondered if you would join me for coffee this morning," I say. Anastasia's mouth opens and closes a few times and there's a look on her face that tells me she didn't expect me to say that. What's wrong with me asking her for coffee? I thought that was a normal thing to do when you're attracted to someone. Perhaps she doesn't see just how attracted to her I am. This, I find difficult to believe considering my breath catches in my throat every damn time she smiles. She must realise this. I wonder if she even knows just how alluring she is. I doubt it; she certainly seems like the modest type.

She clears her throat and announces "I have to drive everyone home." She's still fidgeting with her hands and I badly want to reach out and stop her. But I refrain.

"Taylor!" I call, making her jump.

"Are they based at the university?" I ask her, softening my voice so she doesn't jump again. She's so flighty. I briefly wonder why that is. She nods to answer my question.

"Taylor can take them. He's my driver. We have a large 4x4 here, so he'll be able to take the equipment, too."

"Mr Grey?" Taylor asks.

"Please can you drive the photographer, his assistant and Miss Kavanagh back home?"

"Certainly, sir," he says.

"There. Now you can join me for coffee." I smile at her. You're not getting out of this, Anastasia.

She frowns and looks down briefly. "Um – Mr Grey, err, this really… look, Taylor doesn't have to drive them home." She looks over my shoulder nervously. "I'll swap vehicles with Kate, if you give me a moment."

I smile widely at her and she stares at my mouth for a moment, making me want to put it to better use. Instead, my smile just widens. I open the door to the suite so she can speak with her friend. When she enters, I turn to Taylor and mouth 'phew'. He looks down to hide his grin. He's never seen me take a woman out for coffee before. Hell, he's never even seen me with a woman aside from my family, Elena or one of my subs. I think he can tell this time is different. Is it different, though? I still just want her to be my sub. I think. No, I know. Yes, I just want her to be my sub.


	2. Chapter 2

Chapter 2

Anastasia and I walk to the elevator in silence. She looks nervous and I'm not sure why, although I now realise that I've not seen her any other way. Except for maybe when she smiled at me back at Clayton's. It wasn't a forced smile or a polite smile. No. It was a full-blown, teeth showing, eye twinkling happy smile and I hope to see it again soon. As she walks in front of me, I can't help letting my eyes drift down towards her perfect behind. I'm only human, after all. Her jeans hug her delicate curves and I long to see what's under all that denim.

I shake my head. I need to get to know her first, so I ask "How long have you known Katherine Kavanagh?" We're walking side by side now and she looks slightly relieved at the question.

"Since our freshman year. She's a good friend."

"Hmm," I reply. I want to ask why she seemed to dislike me, but I don't want to sour the mood. Besides, I don't particularly care if Miss Kavanagh doesn't like me, although it could be a problem in the future. Not that three months is much of a future, but I may keep Anastasia longer. I'm getting way ahead of myself here. Slow it down, Grey. She might refuse you. The thought makes me scowl.

I press the button to summon the elevator and it arrives almost immediately. A man and woman are clinging to each other inside. Her arms are around his neck and his hand is tugging on her hair as they kiss passionately. They seem to suddenly realise they're no longer alone and they separate quickly. Anastasia and I step into the elevator together and she looks towards the floor to hide the smirk on her face. I smile mildly, amused by the couple's – and Anastasia's – obvious embarrassment. In the small confines of the elevator, I have a desire to pull Anastasia closer to me. Kiss her like the couple just were. I probably would if we weren't alone, but I'm sure Miss Steele would object to public displays of affection. She's obviously embarrassed easily.

When the elevator arrives at the ground floor, I can wait no longer to touch Miss Steele. I clasp her hand in mine and she gasps, obviously surprised at the contact. The couple behind us laugh loudly as we walk away and I can't help but grin. "What is it about elevators?" I ask myself aloud.

I deliberately avoid using the revolving doors so I don't have to let go of Anastasia's hand. It feels too good. Her delicate fingers flex around mine then she grips me tighter. The sun is shining outside and I notice how its light glints in Anastasia's hair, making it look as though she has hundreds of copper highlights. As we're walking towards the coffee shop, I notice a smile playing at Anastasia's lips and I wonder what she's thinking about. I don't ask in fear that she'll stop smiling.

We're still two blocks from the coffee shop when I notice a young man across the street, blatantly staring at Miss Steele. She doesn't notice as her head is down. The boy's gaze runs the full length of her body and my jaw involuntarily clenches. He finally looks up and notices her hand still gripped in mine. I raise my eyebrows at him and he quickly ducks his head, mortified. Good. I think. She's with me.

I hold the door open for her when we reach Portland Coffee House and she smiles gratefully as she passes me. "Why don't you choose a table while I get the drinks? What would you like?" I ask her.

"I'll have… um – English Breakfast tea, bag out," she answers. No food? She looks like she could float away at any moment. I'm also wondering why she hasn't requested coffee. It is still early. Well, at least it's early for a student on a Saturday morning. Although, Anastasia doesn't seem like the typical student who survives on pizza and sleeps until afternoon on weekends. She seems more mature than that, certainly wise beyond her years. "No coffee?" I ask.

"I'm not keen on coffee."

That's… rare. Coffee is the lifeblood of my business. I smile at her. "Okay, bag out tea. Sugar?" She takes a few seconds to answer and flushes bright pink and I realise that she may have thought I was using a term of endearment. I smirk slightly. Sugar's not sweet enough. Did I just think that? For goodness sake, what is she doing to me?

"No, thanks," she mutters and begins fidgeting with her hands in front of her.

"Anything to eat?" I ask. I'm not going to push because I barely know her, but if she were mine, she would most definitely be eating. Although beautiful, she's too slight.

"No, thank you," she says, shaking her head to stress the point. I sigh slightly and make my way over to the counter. I can feel her gaze on me while I'm waiting in line and I wonder again what's going through that head.

After receiving my order, I make my way to the table where Anastasia sits with her head down. That blush is again spread over her face and I briefly admire the fact that she isn't wearing any make up. Her face is clear and smooth, almost like porcelain. She's chewing on her lip again. God, what that does to me.

"Penny for your thoughts?" I ask and she looks up, startled by my presence. I attempt to smile reassuringly at her, again wondering what has her so on edge. She blushes again and I have a feeling she isn't going to tell me what she was thinking. I sit down across from her and hand her the tea. She doesn't answer me so I prompt "Your thoughts?" I ask again.

"This is my favourite tea," she says. Yeah, that definitely is not what had her blushing when I came over. I frown, hoping she'll admit to me whatever she was contemplating. She doesn't.

She barely allows the tea bag enough time to soak in the water before taking it out again and I watch as she does so. "I like my tea black and weak," she says by way of explanation. The photographer from the shoot has been at the back of my mind ever since she introduced him. Surely he wouldn't allow her to go for coffee with another man if he was her boyfriend? Nevertheless, I have to ask. "I see. Is he your boyfriend?" Subtle, Grey. I couldn't just ask if she was single. Now she's looking at me in utter confusion.

"Who?" she asks, clearly perplexed.

"The photographer. José Rodriguez."

She laughs slightly and hesitates for a moment. I'm on edge. Welch had better hope he didn't miss this detail.

"No. José's a good friend of mine, that's all. Why did you think he was my boyfriend?"

Surely she must see how he looks at her. Her innocence knows no bounds. "The way you smiled at him, and he at you," I tell her. I hope the attraction is just one-sided and she has no desire to pursue a relationship with him.

"He's more like family," she says in a small voice and a wave of relief washes over me. I didn't realise just how much I needed to hear that. I nod at her and start on my blueberry muffin. Her eyes follow my movements as my fingers peel back the casing. "Do you want some?" I ask, amused at her fascination with the muffin. Or my hands. I'm not sure which delights me more.

"No, thanks," she mutters and again ducks her head.

I want to confirm that the young man in the store yesterday isn't her boyfriend. I don't want any obstacles in my way. "And the boy I met yesterday, at the store. He's not your boyfriend?" I ask.

"No. Paul's just a friend. I told you yesterday," she says, exasperated. She's getting annoyed, I can tell. "Why do you ask?"

"You seem nervous around men," I tell her, candidly. She gapes slightly and lowers her gaze.

"I find you intimidating," she says. So, it's just me that makes her nervous then? I hope it's because of her attraction and not my status.

"You find me intimidating," I repeat and she nods slightly. "You're very honest. Please don't look down. I like to see your face." She looks up at me unsurely and I give her what I hope is an encouraging smile. "It gives me some sort of clue what you might be thinking, you're a mystery, Miss Steele." And she is. She's the most mysterious, hard to read, alluring woman I have ever met.

"There's nothing mysterious about me," she says, resignedly. Oh, but there is. She'd give nothing away if it were not for that tell-tale blush that kisses her skin every so often.

"I think you're very self-contained." She seems surprised at this remark. "Except when you blush, of course, which is often. I just wish I knew what you were blushing about." As if on cue, she blushes profusely and I smirk slightly at her.

"Do you always make such personal observations?" she asks, sounding almost affronted.

"I hadn't realized I was. Have I offended you?"

"No," she answers, eradicating my mild embarrassment.

"Good," I tell her.

"But you're very high-handed," she says.

I unintentionally raise my eyebrows in surprise. What an adjective. How fitting, not that she knows the extent of my high-handedness, but she must be rather observant to mention such a thing. "I'm used to getting my own way, Anastasia. In all things," I tell her, although she can't know just how true this statement rings. I hope she'll find out soon, though.

"I don't doubt it," she says, almost accusatory. "Why haven't you asked me to call you by your first name?" she asks.

"The only people who use my given name are my family and a few close friends. That's the way I like it," I inform her. Although, I did like it when she called me Christian after our first meeting. I can't admit that though. For some reason, my pride won't let me. And establishing boundaries is not yet something I'm willing to discuss. My subs don't call my Christian, and Miss Steele will be my sub. Fingers crossed.

She's silent for a while and so I continue eating my muffin and eventually ask "Are you an only child?" I know the answer to this, of course, but I suppose I'd come off as a bit of a stalker if I told her this, so I wait patiently for her reply.

"Yes."

"Tell me about your parents." She seems to talk more about others than herself and I want to know what she makes of her circumstances.

"My mom lives in Georgia with her new husband Bob. My stepdad lives in Montesano."

"And your father?" I regret the question immediately. I know what happened to her father. He died the day after her birthday. I suppose I asked to determine how that has affected her, but she tells me in a nonchalant manner that her father passed away when she was a baby.

"I'm sorry," I tell her. I really shouldn't have asked that.

"I don't remember him," she says, almost sadly and I can't help the stab of sympathy I feel for her. Not that I ever knew my paternal father, but Carrick has been the best dad I could have ever asked for.

"And your mother remarried?" I ask, again knowing the answer before she tells me. She snorts.

"You could say that."

I frown. I know her mother has remarried more than once, but that reaction almost suggests that she's uncomfortable with this. I can't be sure, though. "You're not giving much away, are you?" I ask her, smiling slightly. She really is an enigma.

"Neither are you," she states. She has a point. I want to tell her that this isn't about me. That it's about getting to know her and seeing if she's suitable to be my sub for the next few months, but she'd probably run screaming from Portland Coffee House if I told her this.

Instead, I tell her "You've interviewed me once already, and I can recollect some quite probing questions then." I remember the question that made me positively livid. 'Are you gay, Mr. Grey?' The question brings a smirk to my face. I now know she wasn't asking her own questions and that Miss Kavanagh compiled the list. Still, the memory of her flushing beet red with embarrassment makes my smirk grow.

"My mom is wonderful. She's an incurable romantic. She's currently on her fourth husband," she says in an obvious attempt to change the subject. I raise my eyebrows. Don't incurable romantics usually find one person and stay with them? Not that I'm an expert in this field. In fact, I'm far from it.

"I miss her," Anastasia continues, looking out of the window reflectively. "She has Bob now. I just hope he can keep an eye on her and pick up the pieces when her hare-brained schemes don't go as planned." She smiles at the memories that are obviously flooding her brain and I allow her a moment to get lost in her nostalgia. She looks back at me and her gaze goes straight to my mouth. She looks away just as quickly. She's so easily embarrassed.

"Do you get along with your stepfather?" I ask.

"Of course. I grew up with him. He's the only father I know."

"And what's he like?"

"Ray? He's… taciturn," she says, although she doesn't elucidate.

"That's it?" I ask her, surprised at the description, or lack thereof. She simply shrugs in response. How ironic that she comments on the reticence in others and clearly cannot see the same quality in herself.

"Taciturn like his stepdaughter," I say.

She eventually elaborates. "He likes soccer – European soccer especially – and bowling, and fly-fishing, and making furniture. He's a carpenter. Ex-army."

"You lived with him?"

"Yes. My mom met Husband Number Three when I was fifteen. I stayed with Ray," she tells me. I wonder why she'd choose to stay with her stepfather instead of her mother.

"You didn't want to live with your mom?"

"Husband Number Three lived in Texas. My home was in Montesano. And… you know my mom was newly married."

I realise she doesn't mention Husband Number Three's name and wonder why this is. Didn't she like him? What happened between him and her mother? I can't help but find it a little selfish that her mother would move to Texas and allow her daughter to stay behind. I suppose Anastasia understandably didn't wish to uproot her life and join two newlyweds.

"Tell me about your parents," she says, clearly not liking the spotlight. Unfortunately for her, there isn't much to tell.

So I shrug and tell her "My dad's a lawyer, my mom's a paediatrician. They live in Seattle."

She looks contemplative for a while and then says "What do your siblings do?"

"Elliot's in construction and my little sister is in Paris, studying cookery under some renowned French chef." I'm not comfortable talking about this. It's too personal.

I can tell she senses my irritation. "I hear Paris is lovely," she says quietly.

"It's beautiful. Have you been?"

"I've never left mainland USA," she says. I'm unfamiliar with anyone who's never left the US. I've been to almost every continent and I've enjoyed every minute of it. The wanderlust I have is insatiable and, as much as I love being at home, I love to travel. I'm already making preparations in my head to take Anastasia to France should she become my sub.

"Would you like to go?" I ask.

"To Paris?" she asks in a high voice. I can tell she's a little surprised by the question. "Of course," she continues "But it's England that I'd really like to visit."

"Because?" I prompt.

"It's the home of Shakespeare, Austen, the Brontë sisters, Thomas Hardy. I'd like to see the places that inspired those people to write such wonderful books," she says wistfully. Hearts and flowers. The thought comes unbidden into my mind. I got that impression yesterday, but this further confirms my suspicions that she won't be willing to even entertain the idea of becoming a sub. The playroom and love don't exactly go hand in hand. She looks at her watch and her eyes widen slightly. I do the same and am surprised to see that we've been longer than I had thought. Time flies when you're having fun. And I am. In fact, I think it's the most fun I've had over coffee. I'm not sure if that can be attributed to the weather, the general atmosphere or the company I'm keeping, but I've a feeling it's the latter.

"I'd better go. I have to study," she says apologetically. Disappointment crashes through me as I now realise that we have to part ways.

"For your exams?"

"Yes. They start Tuesday."

"Where's Miss Kavanagh's car?"

"In the hotel parking lot."

"I'll walk you back." Merely an excuse to be with her longer. I've not quite made up my mind as to whether I will pursue Miss Steele yet. But if I choose not to, it will not be for a lack of attraction on my part. But I fear she's too naïve for the kind of things I have in mind.

"Thank you for the tea, Mr. Grey."

I smile at her. "You're welcome, Anastasia. It's my pleasure. Come," I hold out my hand to her and she takes it tentatively, rises from her seat and follows me outside into the sunshine. As we walk back to the hotel, a million thoughts rush through my head, although I try to remain cool and collected.

We're obviously attracted to each other. If I were normal and just wanted to date her, things would be so much easier. But I'm not normal. I don't want to date. I need a sub. I can't let go of that part of myself. It's simply impossible for me. It keeps me sane. I've gone without a sub for quite a few months now and I'm already feeling the need. I'm already craving the feel of a cane in my hands or the sight of handcuffs around pale, delicate wrists. Anastasia is silent beside me, completely oblivious to the war that rages within me.

I glance down and notice again how the denim she's wearing hugs her thighs and calves perfectly. "Do you always wear jeans?" I ask her. I don't mind. I'm just curious. I would prefer if she'd wear dresses or skirts, though; something that shows off more of that perfect skin.

"Mostly," she says and I nod in response.

"Do you have a girlfriend?" She asks and then gapes and flushes, clearly mortified that she has asked such a question and regretting it immediately. I smirk slightly. Does she think I'd take another woman to coffee and hold her hand if I had a girlfriend? I'm not a cheat. I've never had a girlfriend to cheat on. She doesn't know this though. She doesn't know I'm not cut out for that sort of thing. Why, then, have I brought her for a cosy cup of coffee and why am I holding her hand? Am I leading her on, behaving like this? I suddenly feel incredibly guilty. I decide to be forthcoming with regards to my approach to relationships. Well, not completely forthcoming. Not yet.

"No, Anastasia. I don't do the girlfriend thing."

She walks forward and almost immediately trips into the road.

"Shit, Ana!" I yell at her and tug on her hand to pull her out of the way of an idiotic cyclist going way too fast and riding the wrong way up the street. Fucking moron.

She stumbles back into my chest and I instinctively wrap my arms around her protectively. I check for any visible signs that she was hurt even though I know she wasn't. It's just an excuse to touch her, really. I'm running my fingertips over her cheek. She's staring at my chest and she lets her eyes slowly drift up and rest on my eyes as I'm staring back into the blue depths of hers'. I see innocence and purity shining within them. She looks at my mouth and leans her head slightly towards me. She wants me to kiss her. I want to kiss her. I can't though, I realise as I stare back into those gorgeous pools of sapphire. I can't be responsible for corrupting such innocence. I won't be responsible for her debasement.


	3. Chapter 3

Chapter 3

We're still for a few moments and she's staring at my mouth. I have to fight the urge to kiss her and it is killing me. I don't think I've ever wanted to kiss a woman so much. My breathing is harsh and laboured as I continue to hold her to me. What am I doing? I close my eyes and exhale loudly and shake my head slightly. I attempt to take control of my rather strong urges and when I look at her again, she's staring back at me with a confused and, if I'm not mistaken, hurt expression and it physically pains me. I didn't want this. I didn't want to hurt her.

"Anastasia, you should steer clear of me. I'm not the man for you," I admit to her. This just makes her confusion grow and a frown spreads across her perfect face. She still hasn't said anything and she's still holding her breath. "Breathe, Anastasia, breathe. I'm going to stand you up and let you go." I push her body away from mine gently and hold her away from me by her shoulders.

She looks down, embarrassed and when she looks up, she says "I've got this, thank you" in a quiet voice. Why is she thanking me?

"For what?"

"For saving me," she says in a gentle voice.

"That idiot was riding the wrong way. I'm glad I was here. I shudder to think what could have happened to you." The rage I felt towards the cyclist just moments ago grips me again. What kind of fucking delinquent does that? He could have seriously hurt someone. He could have seriously hurt Anastasia. The thought makes me furious. "Do you want to come and sit down in the hotel for a moment?" I ask her. I just want to spend a little more time with her and make sure she really is okay. I finally take my hands from her shoulders and she looks down at them at my sides. She shakes her head and wraps her arms around herself protectively. She walks across the street and I follow behind her.

She looks over her shoulder at me but doesn't meet my eyes and thanks me for doing the photo-shoot. Her voice dejected and guarded. I feel like such a prick.

"Anastasia… I…" have no idea what to say. I run my hands through my hair in frustration.

She snaps at me. "What, Christian?" she asks.

I need to say something. Anything. "Good luck with your exams." What the fuck? God, I'm hopeless.

"Thanks," he says, rather sarcastically and I smile slightly at her irritation with me. Annoyance is better than the hurt look she wore just seconds before.

"Goodbye, Mr. Grey," she says, again in that defeated voice that wounds me. So, we're back to Mr. Grey now? I sigh. She turns and makes her way to the underground parking lot. If she'd look back she'd see that the expression on my face is one of helplessness. I can't say anything to make it better. She doesn't know why I didn't kiss her. She must think I didn't want to. But I can't tell her the real reason without revealing everything about my fucked-up past and I won't taint her like that.

I walk through the entrance of the hotel frustrated with myself and ride the elevator back to my floor. I'm frustrated with myself. I shouldn't have gotten that close to her or asked her for coffee. It was too casual, too much like a date, too… intimate. I laugh at myself. What I want to do with Anastasia is a lot more intimate than coffee and a chat. I suppose I just have to forget about that now though. She's too pure to be marred by the darkness that consumes me.

I reach my room and Taylor is inside waiting for me. I give him a forced smile and tell him he's dismissed for the day. There's no way I can concentrate on work right now. "Sir," he says in his gruff voice. He nods at me and exits the room. I decide to go for a run in an attempt to clear my head. I get changed into a white t-shirt, grey sweatpants and sneakers. I attach my iPod to my arm with the strap and put it on shuffle. The first song that comes up is Ill With Want by The Avett Brothers. How appropriate. But not for running. I skip to the next and this one is Here I Dreamt I Was an Architect by The Decemberists. I exit the room, ride the elevator to the bottom floor and exit the hotel. The weather has cooled slightly now. There's a mild breeze ruffling my hair and it's perfect for running in. I take off in the direction of the park.

Unfortunately, running doesn't take my mind off of Miss Steele as I'd hoped it would. I turn the volume up on Kings of Leon's Closer, trying to drown out my thoughts. It doesn't work. I know I have to leave her alone now, but I can't just let her think I don't give a damn about her. My last words to her come back to haunt me. "Good luck with your exams." What the hell was that? I have to send her something. A gift. Something tells me she won't appreciate me buying anything too lavish like jewellery. And flowers are terribly cliché. I have to get her something different; something unique like her. The only things I know she likes are literature and jeans. She said she liked Thomas Hardy… I smile, knowing what I'll get her.

After several laps of the park, I run back to the hotel room and make all it takes is a few phone calls and a few thousand dollars to get what I want.

I assured expedited shipping while purchasing the books yet they still arrive quicker than I had expected. I personally write out a card then place it on top of one of the books. It reads:

'Why didn't you tell me there was danger? Why didn't you warn me?

Ladies know what to guard against, because they read novels that tell them of these tricks…'

I close the box that holds the books and write her name on top of it. I'll have Taylor drop it off rather than sending it via mail. Of course, the background check Welch did on Anastasia gave me her address, so I ask him to take the package and place it on the doorstep if nobody's home. She'll know who it's from. Hopefully.

Later, I return from the Heathman's gym and hear my BlackBerry buzzing from where I left it on the nightstand. I pick it up and look at the name on the screen. Elliot. "Hey, bro," he says as soon as I answer. I'm in Portland. Wanna meet up for a beer?"

"What are you doing in Portland?"

"Unimportant. Beer. Yes? No?"

"Alright. I'm at the Heathman."

"I know. Be there in twenty. Laters."

Elliot arrives after I've showered and dress in jeans, converse, a white linen shirt and pinstriped blazer. The first thing he asks as he walks through the doors is "They do good food here?" I laugh at him.

"Yeah, it's good," I reply. He nods and exits and I grab my BlackBerry and follow him. We eat in the main part of the restaurant and Elliot orders what is probably the biggest cheeseburger I've ever seen.

"Mom said you haven't been to see her and dad in a while," Elliot comments, casually.

I sigh. "Yeah, I've been meaning to. Work's been a bit hectic." He nods and goes back to his burger. I'll ask mom to lunch next week. That'll get her off my back. Hopefully she won't chew my ear off for not visiting more often. I remember the impending arrival of Mia and smile. I've missed her. I'd have probably flown out to Paris to see her had I not been so busy lately. "Is mom doing anything to welcome Mia back?" I ask Elliot.

He nods. "Yeah, I think she wants to have a family dinner or something," he says. Good. It'll be nice to see everyone at once. "You know what that means, right?" Elliot asks, smiling. I look at him in confusion. "What?"

"Gretchen will be there…" he winks at me. I roll my eyes at him. She's worked for mom for a few years and is a shameless flirt. I'm sure Elliot has hooked up with her a few times although he's never told me this. "You should ask her out, Christian, I think she likes you," he says, watching carefully for my reaction.

"Not my type," I tell him.

"Christian… I know we've never really talked about this, but… Are you… You do… Like women, right?"

I laugh at him. "Fuck off, Lelliot." He simply laughs in reply.

We sit at the bar for a little while and I'm on only my second beer when my BlackBerry rings. It's Miss Steele's number.

"Anastasia?" I ask in confusion. Why would she be calling me? I thought I'd be the last person she'd want to talk to after the way we'd left things.

"Why did you send me the books?" Her voice sounds slower than usual and a little all over the place.

"Anastasia, are you okay? You sound strange," I tell her.

"I'm not the strange one, you are," she says in a slurred voice. I think she's drunk. Fuck.

"Anastasia, have you been drinking?"

"What's it to you?" Fuck, if she were mine, she'd be over my knee in no time.

"I'm – curious. Where are you?"

"In a bar," she says, sounding bored.

"Which bar?" I ask a little annoyed at her.

"A bar in Portland." Hmm. The sarcasm is strong with this one.

"How are you getting home?"

"I'll find a way." She doesn't even know how she's getting home? Oh, she is in so much trouble. Elliot looks at me curiously, but I just shake my head at him.

"Which bar are you in?" I ask, getting up from my seat and making my way toward the restaurant's exit. Elliot follows behind me.

"Why did you send me the books, Christian?"

"Anastasia, where are you? Tell me now." I attempt to sound calm and collected, but I fear I may have come off as demanding. She won't tell me where she is if she thinks I'm mad at her, but I need to know where she is.

"You're so… domineering," she giggles at me. Oh, she has no fucking idea just how domineering I can be.

"Ana, so help me, where the fuck are you?" Now I'm just pissed. What a stupid thing to do: go out and get drunk and not have a clue how you're going to get home.

She giggles at me again and, despite my annoyance, I smile slightly at the mellifluous sound of her small laugh.

"I'm in Portland," she says. "…s'a long way from Seattle." She sounds so pleased with herself. She clearly thinks I've gone home, yet I decided to stay for a few more days for reasons I'm not yet ready to analyse.

"Where in Portland?" I ask her, attempting to prevent the fury I'm feeling from leaking into my voice.

"Goodnight, Christian."

"Ana!"

She hangs up. "FUCK!" I shout.

"Woah, bro, what the fuck was that?" Elliot asks. I don't answer him. I'm on the phone to Barney immediately.

"Sir," he answers in that youthful timbre of his.

"Barney, I need you to track a cell phone number and tell me where its location." I give him Anastasia's number and tell him that this needs to be done straight away.

"Done," he says then hangs up.

He calls back not a minute later with the name of the bar Anastasia is currently in. He must have already been at his computer. No surprise there. I thank him.

"You're welcome. Anything else, sir?" he asks.

"No. Thanks again, Barney." I hang up. I need to give that kid a raise. I call back Anastasia to make sure she doesn't leave the bar.

"Hi," she says, rather timidly.

"I'm coming to get you." I hang up before she has the chance to object. A few minutes later, Elliot and I are in my car and he still has no idea what's happening. "Where going to pick someone up," I tell him.

"May I ask who Anastasia is?"

I shoot him a look that I hope says drop it. But he doesn't.

"Little brother! You have a girlfriend?!" He sounds surprised. Too surprised. Perhaps he really thought I was gay.

"No, I've only met her a few times. She interviewed me for the WSU student paper."

"And why have you seen her more than once if she simply interviewed you?"

"They asked me to do a photo shoot. I agreed then took her for coffee," I shrug.

A wide smile spreads across Elliot's face. "What?" I snap at him.

"Nothing," he says, still wearing that stupid fucking grin.

We arrive at the bar and I immediately spot Anastasia in the parking lot. With the photographer. I tell Elliot to go inside the bar to find Miss Kavanagh. I describe what she looks like and tell Elliot to tell her I'm taking Anastasia home. I hope she's with other friends. If she came out with just the photographer and he's gotten her drunk to try and have his way, I swear to God… I involuntarily clench my fists. She said he was more like family, but they look more intimate than that to me at the moment. I can't see them very clearly in the muted lighting coming from the bar and nearby streetlamps, but I can tell he has his arm around her waist. Elliot goes inside, but my eyes are still fixed on the scene in front of me. His other hand has travelled up to her chin and I think he's trying to kiss her. I try to calm myself before I snap. I can hear her protesting. "José, no," she says in a pleading voice.

"I think the lady said no," I say, in a deceptively calm tone.

"Grey," he says as he moves away. My eyes are fixed on his hand which is still around her waist. He doesn't move it which only makes me even angrier. I'm about to tell him to fuck off when Anastasia leans over and empties the contents of her stomach on the concrete.

"Ugh – Dios mio, Ana!" The photographer jumps away from her, disgusted. Some friend. I immediately rush to her and pull back her hair to stop her from throwing up in it. I walk her over to the edge of the lot, still holding back her hair. "If you're going to throw up again, do it here. I'll hold you," I tell her. I put my other arm around her shoulder and hold it, fearful that she may topple over without my support. She proceeds to throw up impressive amounts considering it's virtually all liquid. She mustn't have eaten. I shake my head. The azaleas in the flowerbed flatten under her vomit and I look away, slightly amused. This will teach her not to drink so much again. Her body is visibly trembling with the aftereffects and she attempts a few deep breaths to try and calm down her stomach which is no doubt in knots. When her stomach is void, she flattens her palms on the brick surround the flowerbeds to support her weak knees and I let go of her hair and shoulder when I'm sure she's done. I hand her a handkerchief from inside my blazer and she studies it before wiping it along her mouth.

I can feel the photographer's gaze on us, but I don't look at him. I'm studying Anastasia closely in case I have to rescue her hair from puke again, but she seems fine now. She looks at me briefly then turns to glare at the photographer. She's angry with him. Good.

"I'll er… see you inside," he says in a feeble voice. What a prick. Who the fuck would leave his friend all alone with someone she barely knows? Who knows what could happen if I was anyone else. I shake my head, beyond furious with the boy. He heads back into the bar and Anastasia and I are stood facing each other.

"I'm sorry," she whispers. She's twisting the handkerchief around her fingers, clearly nervous.

"What are you sorry for, Anastasia?"

"The phone call mainly, being sick. Oh, the list is endless…"

"We've all been here, perhaps not quite as dramatically as you," I mutter. "It's about knowing your limits, Anastasia. I mean, I'm all for pushing limits, but really this is beyond the pale. Do you make a habit of this kind of behaviour?" I hope not. Anything could happen to her.

She scowls at me. "No. I've never been drunk before and right now I have no desire to ever be again," she says resolutely. Well, that's a relief. Not that I'd let her do this again anyway. She wobbles on her feet slightly and her eyes glaze over. I think she's going to faint so I grab her around the waist before her face meets the concrete. "Come on, I'll take you home," I tell her.

"I need to tell Kate."

"My brother can tell her."

"What?"

"My brother Elliot is talking to Miss Kavanagh."

"Oh?"

"He was with me when you phoned."

"In Seattle?" she asks in confusion.

"No, I'm staying at the Heathman," I sigh. I actually wish she would have fainted so I could have just put her in my car and put her to bed. The thought of Anastasia in bed makes my cock twitch. Not like this though. Not when she's consumed more alcohol than I even care to think about.

"How did you find me?"

"I tracked your cell phone, Anastasia," I tell her honestly.

She frowns and then shrugs slightly.

"Do you have a jacket or a purse?"

"Err… yes, I came with both. Christian, please, I need to tell Kate. She'll worry." We're back to Christian again. I told her I only let my family call me that. Defiant little temptress. I don't mention that though, in fact, I'd prefer it if she kept on calling me Christian. It's… refreshing. I don't like the idea of her going back inside the bar where the photographer is, but I concede so that I can ensure Miss Kavanagh that Anastasia will be safe with me.

"If you must."

I let her go so I can take her hand, still unsure whether she's stable on her own feet. Who am I kidding? It's just an excuse to hold her hand again. The bar is rather cramped and I subtly move people out of the way and pull Anastasia behind me. She points at her table and we make our way over. The other young man from the photo-shoot sits there alone, clearly purse-guarding. "Where's Kate?" Anastasia asks him. "Dancing," shouts the young man, clearly irritated with something. He watches me suspiciously and I raise my eyebrows at him, but he remains silent. Anastasia lets go of my hand so she can put on her jacket and put her purse over her shoulder.

She leans up to me and tells me that Kate is on the dance floor. Her nose brushes my ear briefly and I want to lean into her more, but I refrain. She looks down, flushing at her brief contact and I roll my eyes at her. I lead her over to the bar and tell her to drink the pint of water I hand her to settle her stomach. She takes the tiniest sip. "All of it," I demand. I don't want her to throw up again. I'm still frustrated with her for getting in this situation in the first place. She's swaying in front of me and I steady her with my hand on her shoulder. "You alright?" I ask her, but she doesn't hear me. "Anastasia?" She still doesn't hear me. She's staring at my chest and biting that damn lip again. I need to get her out of here. I take her hand again and take her to the dance floor so I can talk to Elliot. I see her wary expression. She clearly doesn't like dancing. I smirk at her before tugging her to me and moving against her body. She tentatively begins to move against me and smiles slightly. I watch her eyes as we dance and they're hooded and dark. Fuck, she can't keep looking at me like that. I quickly lead her over to Katherine and Elliot. Miss Kavanagh is dancing rather seductively with my brother and he cannot take his eyes off of her. I roll my eyes. He really does have a one-track mind.

"I'm taking her home, she's far too drunk" I tell him. He just grins and pulls Katherine to him. "Christian's going to take her home. You'll stay here with me for a little while, won't you?" She smiles at him and nods, making his grin grow. Miss Kavanagh waves and I pull Anastasia behind me to the bar's exit. She looks over her shoulder at her friend. When she turns back around, her eyes are glazed over and she sways before literally falling into my arms. "Fuck!"

I pick her up and place her limp arms around my neck. Her legs are over my right arm. Several people have turned to look at us, but they just laugh and avert their gazes. Katherine and Elliot are beside me almost instantly and they follow me outside. I walk over to my car and strap her into the passenger seat. I close the door and turn to face my brother. "I'll have Taylor come and pick you up if you're staying," I tell him.

"Actually, uh – I don't think I'll be staying at the hotel tonight." He looks to his side where Miss Kavanagh stands with her hands wrapped around her stomach, shivering in the cold. He takes off his jacket and drapes it over her shoulders and she smiles at him. She turns her gaze to me and says "No funny business when she's like this. I mean it."

"You have nothing to worry about. I think I should take her back to the hotel though. It's closer and I don't want to jolt her awake on a longer journey."

"Alright…" she says apprehensively.

"He'll look after her, Kate," Elliot says. I nod at both of them and walk around to the drivers' side of my car. I wave as I'm pulling out of the parking lot and I see Elliot wrap his arms around Katherine and lead her back inside.

The hotel's valet looks at me suspiciously as I retrieve Anastasia's limp body from my car. I simply shake my head, hand him the keys and carry her to the door where an older woman holds the door open for me.

"Thank you," I say.

"That's alright, dear. Did someone have a little too much to drink?" She smiles at me kindly.

I laugh. "Yeah."

Once in my suite, I lay her on the bed. What do I do now? I need to undress her; she can't sleep in those jeans. I take off her shoes and socks then unbutton her jeans. She opens her eyes slightly and stares up at the light above the bed. I almost want to laugh at the dazed, oblivious look on her face. I eventually get her jeans off without much help from her and pick her up again to lay her the right way in the bed. She wraps her arms around my neck and doesn't leave go when I try to put her down. I laugh at her. "Anastasia, you have to let go of me."

"Hmm?" she says, but she doesn't move her arms. I pry her hands from around my neck and she reluctantly lets go and falls back into the pillows. I put her under the covers and brush her hair away from her face. I stand and begin to undress. I briefly contemplate sleeping on the couch in the living room, but I can't pass up an opportunity like this. I crawl into the bed beside her in my T-shirt and boxers. I lie awake for a long time. I watch her chest rise and fall and listen to her deep breathing. Occasionally, she'll sigh slightly, the sound soft and sweet. I don't know how long I look at her. She really is beautiful. There's a slight frown line between her brows and I reach over and run my finger over it to smooth it out. She moves toward me and places her head in the crook of my neck. I freeze for a minute. Do I move her? I decide to just let her be and wrap my arm around her. I'm asleep within minutes.


	4. Chapter 4

Chapter 4

I awake with my arms tightly around Anastasia and note that for the first time in a long time, I had no dreams. I look down and see that her eyes are still closed and her breathing is still deep and even. I watch her for a few seconds, transfixed by her features: the delicate curve of her jaw, the slope of her elegant neck, the natural, rich colour of her full lips. I shake my head slightly to clear my thoughts and begin to gently ease her body away from mine, although it pains me to do so. She makes a small sound of protest and I still my movements, hoping I've not woken her up. Fortunately, she simply clutches the blanket close to her and snuggles into the pillow.

I glance at my Rolex which sits on the nightstand. 07:26AM. What the hell? I slept for six hours. That hasn't happened since… ever. Not that I can recall, anyway. I quietly slip out of the covers and rise from the bed. Aaaand I'm hard as a rock. I shake my head, look away from Anastasia and grab my BlackBerry from my discarded jeans. I walk quietly into the living room and call Taylor.

As usual, he answers on the first ring with "Sir."

"Taylor, I need you to come to my room to pick up some things and take them the hotel's laundry department downstairs, please. And I need you to go into town and purchase some women's clothing as soon as possible. I know it's early, but there should be a few places open. You'll have to get jeans, a blouse – make sure it's light blue" It'll match her eyes. "- get those in a small and, uh… You'll need to get some, uh, underwear, too. Get a matching set. 34C." I hope that's the right size. "Oh, and – hang on." I walk back into the bedroom and pick up one of Anastasia's shoes from the floor. She stirs in her sleep and I quickly look up, catching her stretch and turn over so she's facing me. I fear I may have woken her up, but her eyes are still closed and she still has that peaceful, content expression on her face. She looks so serene and tranquil in that state. A slight smile graces her face. She's clearly dreaming. I find myself smiling, too.

"Sir?" Taylor's voice draws my attention back to the BlackBerry that I'm still holding to my ear.

"Right, sorry. Get some women's socks and Converse sneakers in a size 7, too, please."

"Is that all, sir?"

"Yes. Thank you, Taylor." I hang up. I don't want to be too far when Anastasia wakes up, but I assume she'll sleep for a while longer with the hangover she's bound to have. I go into the bathroom and rifle through the medicine cabinet in search of Advil. I find the bottle and take out two pills. Once I've placed them on the nightstand by Anastasia's side, I call room service and order a glass of orange juice. I'll order breakfast once she's awake to save it from going cold. Taylor knocks lightly on the door and I grab Anastasia's jeans from the floor so he can take them to get cleaned. He simply nods at me, turns left and heads down towards the elevators. When the juice has arrived, I place it next to the pills and decide to head to the hotel's gym.

I dress in a grey shirt, matching sweatpants and my black sneakers, grab my iPod and head out of the door, closing it quietly behind me. The hotel boasts a rather large gym with several treadmills, rowing machines, elliptical trainers and weights. They also have a large swimming pool and sauna, but I'm yet to test out those facilities. I decide to use the treadmill and I take my iPod from my pocket, put in my earphones and put it on shuffle again. The sound of the Stone Roses' Sally Cinnamon fills my ears and I head to one of the vacant treadmills and start off at a slow place.

I don't know what I'll do about Miss Anastasia Steele. I could simply go out and find a sub who knows exactly what that world is all about and who I know will be prepared to allow such a relationship. Yet, here I am, contemplating telling Anastasia all about it in the hope that she'll what? Get excited and beg me to spank her? I wish. I told myself I wouldn't go near her again. I didn't want my black soul to spoil the perfection that emanates from her every pore. But I can't get the image of her in my bed out of my mind. Her soft, chocolate hair spread across the white pillow, her smooth face completely unblemished and flawless.

I've significantly increased my pace and I'm listening to Kasabian's Underdog when I see a woman across the room on an elliptical, shamelessly staring at me. She has straight brown hair tied into a ponytail, tanned skin and tits that I think have to be fake. She waves at me and puts on her face what I assume is a come hither look. And I'm completely uninterested. I stop the treadmill and step off and she smiles and looks at me hopefully, but I simply turn and head out of the glass door, grabbing a towel from the designated receptacle on the way out.

I take the elevator to the lobby and request a breakfast menu. I don't know what she likes so I just – rather guiltily – order a little of everything and request that it's brought to my room.

"Your food should arrive within half an hour, sir," the receptionist tells me and I thank her.

I head back into the suite to find the living room empty. The bag with the clothes I asked Taylor to get sits on the couch and I look through it to make sure he got everything. The underwear he bought her are from La Perla and they're an ice blue colour, like the blouse. The lace swirls this way and that to make intricate flower patterns that will cover her modesty. I place the items back in the bag. Just the thought of Anastasia wearing these… I shake my head and knock on the bedroom door, but I hear no objection to me entering, so I open it and walk inside. She's awake and she runs her gaze over me from head to toe. She closes her eyes and breathes deeply for a moment and I'm not sure if it's because she's embarrassed or terribly hung-over.

"Good morning, Anastasia. How are you feeling?"

"Better than I deserve," she says quietly. I chuckle slightly. She certainly looks her usual, perfect self to me. I put the shopping bag on a chair that faces the dressing table and grasp the towel that now hangs over my neck. I turn back to look at her and study her quietly for a few seconds. She asks me how she got here and I walk over to her side of the bed and sit down next to her. She leans forward slightly when I face her.

"After you passed out, I didn't want to risk the leather upholstery in my car taking you all the way to your apartment. So I brought you here," I inform her.

"Did you put me to bed?"

"Yes."

"Did I throw up again?"

"No."

"Did you undress me?" she says in what sounds like a horrified whisper. She's flushing bright red.

"Yes." I raise an eyebrow at her and her blush deepens.

"We didn't…" She doesn't have to finish the question for me to know what she's asking. I'm annoyed that she'd think such a thing of me.

"Anastasia, you were comatose. Necrophilia is not my thing. I like my women sentient and receptive," I tell her.

"I'm so sorry."

I smile at her, hoping to ease her discomfort.

"It was a very diverting evening. Not one that I'll forget in a while." How could I? I smile at the memory of waking up to her face. Not something I'm used to.

"You didn't have to track me down with whatever James Bond stuff you're developing for the highest bidder," she snaps at me and I wonder what I've done to piss her off. Anything could have happened to her if I hadn't stepped in.

"Firstly, the technology to track cell phones is available over the Internet. Secondly, my company does not invest or manufacture any kind of surveillance devices, and thirdly, if I hadn't come to get you, you'd probably be waking up in the photographer's bed, and from what I can remember, you weren't overly enthused about him pressing his suit," I tell her harshly, trying to hammer home the fact that the boy is the one she should be angry with, not me.

She laughs. "Which medieval chronicle did you escape from?" she giggles. "You sound like a courtly knight."

Not one in shining armour, though. I smile at her girlish expression and that delightful laugh. "Anastasia, I don't think so. Dark knight, maybe. Did you eat last night?" I ask, remembering my irritation from yesterday. She shakes her head, confirming my suspicions and I clench my jaw.

"You need to eat. That's why you were so ill. Honestly, Anastasia, it's drinking rule number one." How could she not know this? Well, she did say she had never been drunk before and I remember my relief that she does not make a habit of such behaviour.

"Are you going to continue to scold me?"

"Is that what I'm doing?" I ask her, surprised. I wasn't intending to lecture her, but she needs to be more careful.

"I think so."

"You're lucky I'm just scolding you."

"What do you mean?"

"Well, if you were mine, you wouldn't be able to sit down for a week after the stunt you pulled yesterday. You didn't eat, you got drunk, you put yourself at risk." I shouldn't have said that. I just dread to think what could have happened. I'm doing myself no favours by repeatedly letting my mind wander to hypothetical situations, but her safety is something that should come at the top of her list of priorities. I can only hope she doesn't pay attention to the 'wouldn't sit down for a week' bit.

"I hate to think what could have happened to you," I try to make my voice sound calmer, but I think it probably sounds more reprimanding than anything.

"I would have been fine. I was with Kate," she says. The point is that anything could have happened to either of them if Katherine had also gotten as drunk as Miss Steele here. If Anastasia hadn't decided to call me for an explanation of the book, then she may have ended up with José instead of me.

"And the photographer?" I snap, letting my anger at him leak into my voice.

"José just got out of line," she shrugs, as if what he did is inconsequential.

"Well, the next time he gets out of line, maybe someone should teach him some manners." I'd gladly do this.

"You are quite the disciplinarian," she snaps at me.

"Oh, Anastasia, you have no idea." Just the thought of how disciplinary I can be makes me grin and I can't help but picture myself exerting this trait over Anastasia. She doesn't reply to that comment and I'm still grinning when I say "I'm going to have a shower. Unless you'd like to shower first?"

She's holding her breath and looking up at me silently. I can't help it; I reach over and run my thumb over her cheek and her bottom lip.

"Breathe, Anastasia," I whisper. I reluctantly remove my hand from her face and stand up.

"Breakfast will be here in fifteen minutes. You must be famished," I say before walking into the bathroom and closing the door behind me.

The scorching torrent of water spouting from the showerhead gives me a much-needed respite from the constant battle I'm fighting in my head. However, as soon as I step out of the shower, my thoughts are flooded with pros and cons once again. I know I should stay away. Tell her "_It was nice to meet you, so long." _She doesn't deserve to become tangled up in this web of darkness, but I simply can't do that. I can't walk away without at least asking her to consider becoming my sub. And if that makes me a selfish bastard, then so be it.

I wrap one of the hotel towels around my waist, brush my teeth and exit the bathroom to find Anastasia out of bed, still wearing just her T-shirt and underwear. I swallow back a groan at the sight of her perfect legs. She stares back at me, mouth open, staring at my chest and I raise my eyebrows, but she doesn't see.

"If you're looking for your jeans, I've sent them to the laundry. They were spattered with your vomit."

"Oh," she says quietly.

"I sent Taylor out for another pair and some shoes. They're in the bag on the chair."

"Um… I'll have a shower. Thanks," she says before grabbing the bag and practically running into the bathroom. I chuckle. I don't know why I enjoy her embarrassment so much. Actually, yes I do. It's because of that unique shade between pink and scarlet that scatters across her cheeks when she's uncomfortable. I get dried and dressed in dark jeans and a white shirt. Breakfast arrives just as I'm buttoning up. The room service attendant pushes his cart toward the table in the living room and unloads the plates onto it. I tip him and he leaves quickly. I head to the bathroom, tap on the door and tell Anastasia that our food has arrived. She sounds startled and stutters out an "Okay."

I retrieve my car keys from yesterday's jacket and put them on the dining table. I take Anastasia's jacket and purse and drape them over the arm of the couch. I then text my brother to let him know that Anastasia is fine and that I'll be dropping her off soon. I assume he's still at Miss Kavanagh's. I sit at one of the dining table's chairs, put an omelette on my plate and grab the morning's paper which sits on the tray that holds our drinks. I flip straight to the business section. I'm waiting for Anastasia to join me before I start eating. She enters the room a few minutes later and I allow her to take in the surroundings before speaking. It's rather opulent and spacious, with a huge TV, plush couches and rich colours on the walls.

"Crap, Kate," she says, alarmed.

"She knows you're here and still alive. I texted Elliot."

She looks slightly worried as she stands in the doorway of the living room. Her hair is still wet and I frown at the fact that she hasn't made use of the hairdryer in the bedroom. She's fidgeting with her hands and still just standing there so I eventually tell her to sit. She takes the chair opposite from me and stares at all of the food in front of her. There are pancakes and muffins, French toast, fruit, granola, eggs, bacon; too much, really.

"I didn't know what you liked, so I ordered a selection from the breakfast menu."

"That's very profligate of you," she comments.

"Yes, it is," I'm regretting the fact that I didn't just wait until she had awoken and ask to take her for breakfast.

She chooses scrambled eggs, pancakes, syrup and bacon and I smirk. Finally, she's eating. The omelette has been cooked perfectly, although it's not as good as Gail's.

"Tea?" I ask her, I made sure to order Twining's English Breakfast – the kind that she drank at Portland Coffee House.

"Yes, please," she says. I watch again as she makes her tea, briefly steeping the bag before taking it out again.

"Your hair's very damp," I tell her.

"I couldn't find the hairdryer," she says even though I know she didn't look as the hairdryer lies rather conspicuously in the chest of drawers. I don't comment.

"Thank you for organising the clothes," she murmurs.

"It's a pleasure, Anastasia. That colour suits you." There's that blush again. She fidgets with her hands in her lap, uncomfortable with my remark.

"You know, you really should learn to take a compliment," I tell her. She must get them all the time; you'd think she'd be used to it.

"I should give you some money for these clothes," she says. Is she serious? A few hundred dollars is nothing. I will not accept money from her.

"You've already given me the books, which, of course, I can't accept. But these clothes… please let me pay you back." She smiles gently, obviously trying to make me accept her offer.

"Anastasia, trust me, I can afford it."

"That's not the point. Why should you buy these for me?"

"Because I can," I tell her. I earn more in a year than most people do in a lifetime. Does she not know just how wealthy I am? I'm not one to brag, but her insinuation that I'm in any way put out by buying her a few things is a little offensive.

"Just because you can doesn't mean that you should," she says quietly. I simply raise an eyebrow at her.

"Why did you send me the books, Christian?" She says, again in that soft tone of voice. I put down my knife and fork and simply look at her for a few seconds. She's not refusing them. I know she likes Thomas Hardy, and first editions of Tess of the d'Urbervilles are something that any fan of his would be ecstatic to have. I won't let her pride get in the way of possessing something like this. I didn't want to mention what happened when we parted last time, but she's given me no choice.

"Well, when you were nearly run over by the cyclist – and I was holding you and you were looking up at me – all kiss me, kiss me, Christian," I shrug and continue, "I felt I owed you an apology and a warning. Anastasia, I'm not a hearts and flowers kind of man, I don't do romance. My tastes are very singular. You should steer clear from me."

But, God, I hope she doesn't. I close my eyes, attempting to gather my composure.

"There's something about you, though, and I'm finding it impossible to stay away. But I think you've figured that out already."

"Then don't."

Did she just say that? I look up at her. I didn't think that this attraction was simply one-sided, but I'm caught off guard by her saying something so forward. In the little time that we have spent together, she has seldom said what she's really thinking without me prompting her to do so. I wonder why she wants to pursue something with me when I've told her that I don't do the girlfriend thing. I can only assume that she simply thinks I go for no-strings-attached sexual relationships. In reality, it's far more complex than that. I swallow.

"You don't know what you're saying."

"Enlighten me, then," she demands.

I can't. Not yet. I have to show her, she'll think my lifestyle is sordid if I simply lay all cards on the table right now. She has to see the playroom to know that what I do is safe and can only occur between myself and someone who's fully prepared to commit all she can to me. We're silent for a few moments and we watch each other across the table.

"You're not celibate then," she states.

I smirk at her, fighting the urge to laugh out loud.

"No, Anastasia, I'm not celibate." Whatever gave her that idea? She looks embarrassed.

"What are your plans for the next few days?" I ask her. If she comes with me to Escala, I can show her what she'll be getting herself into if she wants any sort of relationship with me.

"I'm working today, from midday. What is the time?" She asks, worried.

"It's just after ten, you've plenty of time. What about tomorrow?" I place my elbows on the table, and rest my chin on my hands.

"Kate and I are going to start packing. We're moving to Seattle next weekend, and I'm working at Clayton's all this week." She's moving? That would make her future commute to Escala easier. Again, I'm getting ahead of myself.

"You have a place in Seattle already?" I ask her.

"Yes."

"Where?"

"I can't remember the address. It's in the Pike Market District."

"Not far from me," I tell her.

Not far at all. It's very close to Flynn's office, actually. I need to speak to him soon. It's been too long since we've had a session due to the fact that I decided to stay in Portland longer than I had initially planned.

"So what are you going to do for work in Seattle?"

"I've applied for some internships. I'm waiting to hear," she mumbles.

"Have you applied to my company as I suggested?" I know she hasn't. I'd know about it if she did.

"Um… no."

"And what's wrong with my company?" She almost seems amused at the thought of working for me.

"Your company or your Company?" She smirks. Oh, she's funny, too. I smile at her.

"Are you smirking at me, Miss Steele?" I tilt my head and study her closely, witnessing that signature blush as I do so. She ducks her head and bites on that full bottom lip again. Oh, God.

"I'd like to bite that lip," I say quietly. I didn't really mean to say it aloud but I'm glad I did when she gasps and her eyes fly to mine with a lust-filled look in them.

"Why don't you?" Oh, fuck, what is she doing to me?

I swallow.

"Because I'm not going to touch you, Anastasia – not until I have your written consent to do so," I tell her.

At the moment, I'd be up for vanilla, but I can't take advantage of her without her knowing what's behind that door at Escala that allows me to live out my every fantasy. I smile at the thought of Anastasia in the playroom.

"What does that mean?" she asks, intrigue etched all over that gorgeous face.

"Exactly what I say," I tell her.

I sigh and shake my head. I'm amused at her curious expression, but also a little annoyed that I can't just take her to the playroom right now.

"I need to show you, Anastasia. What time do you finish work this evening?"

"About eight," she says.

"Well, we could go to Seattle this evening or next Saturday for dinner at my place, and I'll acquaint you with the facts then. The choice is yours."

I don't know if I can wait until next Saturday. It'll kill me to do so, but it's completely up to her.

"Why can't you tell me now?" She asks, frowning at me. I think she's pissed off.

"Because I'm enjoying my breakfast and your company," I tell her. "Once you're enlightened, you probably won't want to see me again."

The thought pains me. I know she's as pure and innocent as they come. I just hope what I have in mind will interest her rather than disgust her. A million expressions race across her face at once and I can tell that she's allowing her imagination to drive her crazy with possibilities. I should have articulated myself better, but I was simply being honest.

"Tonight," she says, resolutely.

"Like Eve, you're so quick to eat from the tree of knowledge." In which case, I am the tempting serpent. I smirk.

"Are you smirking at me, Mr. Grey?" she asks in a breathy tone. Fuck, she can't talk to me like that or I'll fuck her on this table. I call Taylor.

"Sir?" he asks.

"Taylor. I'm going to need Charlie Tango."

"Yes, sir. Flight plan?"

"From Portland at, say 20:30."

"Round trip?"

"No, standby at Escala."

"All night, sir?"

"All night," I confirm.

"Will you be returning to Portland tomorrow, sir?"

"Yes. On call tomorrow morning. I'll pilot from Portland to Seattle. Standby pilot from 22:30."

"Sir." I hang up.

"Do people always do what you tell them?" Anastasia asks, arching a brow.

"Usually… if they want to keep their jobs," I retort.

"And if they don't work for you?"

"Oh, I can be very persuasive, Anastasia. You should finish your breakfast. And then I'll drop you home. I'll pick you up at Clayton's when you finish. We'll fly up to Seattle." And I can't wait. She stares back at me, blankly.

"Fly?" She asks.

"Yes. I have a helicopter," I state, proudly. Charlie Tango is my prized possession. Her mouth drops open.

"We'll go by helicopter to Seattle?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Why?"

I grin at her. "Because I can. Finish your breakfast."

She looks down at the plethora of food in front of her. She has barely eaten anything and it's bound to be getting cold. She shifts on her chair.

"Eat," I command. I really don't want to see all of this food thrown out. "Anastasia, I have an issue with wasted food… eat," I say, softer this time.

"I can't eat all this." She glances down at the food that covers the table.

"Eat what's on your plate. If you'd eaten properly yesterday, you wouldn't be here, and I wouldn't be declaring my hand so soon." …or risking the possibility of you running so soon. The thought makes my jaw clench. She looks at her food again and laughs slightly.

"What's so funny?" I ask her. She simply shakes her head. I watch with satisfaction as she eats the last of her food. She looks up at me when she's done.

"Good girl. I'll take you home when you've dried your hair. I don't want you getting ill." That most certainly would not do. I need her fit and healthy for what I have in mind. Of course, I don't expect anything too adventurous to happen tonight, but I think I can have a lot of fun with a beginner.

"Where did you sleep last night?" She tries to sound nonchalant, but fails to do so.

"In my bed," I reply simply.

"Oh," she whispers.

"Yes, it was quite a novelty for me, too." I smile at the memory.

"Not having… sex," she says quietly. I look up at her and see her skin heat with her blush.

"No." I shake my head. I've not had sex in a bed before, actually. Well, except the one in the playroom, but I'm not sure that counts. It's simply a mattress and a frame; not a proper bed at all. God, that sounds so sleazy. "Sleeping with someone," I continue.

I go back to my newspaper and feel her gaze on me. She stands from the table and exits the living room and I relax my shoulders. I had a feeling she was going to push and I'd feel uncomfortable discussing the fact that I've fucked women but not slept with them, although she'll find that out tonight, anyway. I hear the hairdryer turn on in the bedroom and I smile. I like it when she does what she's told. My BlackBerry buzzes and I put down the paper to give the caller my full attention.

"Ros," I answer.

"Sir. Jin Zheng wants to schedule video calls when you're back in Seattle to discuss the deal in Taiwan."

"Done. Contact Andrea. Tell her I want them scheduled ASAP. What's the news on the Egyptian shipment?"

Anastasia enters the room and immediately starts looking through her purse. She takes out a hair tie and begins to twist and turn her hair into a ponytail and I watch as she does so. When she's done, she sits on the chair opposite me again. I shake my head and focus back on what Ros is saying.

"…so the shipment is delayed. They're asking for double the material. Why they couldn't do that weeks ago is something I just don't know."

"They want two?"

"Yep."

"How much will that cost?" I ask her.

"It's steep… Another 6 million."

"Okay, and what safety measures do we have in place?"

"Welch is yet to contact me with the details, but I'll let you know when he does. This is going to take longer than we anticipated."

Well, shit.

"And they'll go via Suez?" I ask.

"Yes, when they can. This could take significantly longer than we would have liked."

"How safe is Ben Sudan?"

"Extremely so. They're en route as we speak."

"And when do they arrive in Darfur?"

"ETA 13:20 tomorrow. The Egyptian shipment is awaiting approval."

"Okay, let's do it. Keep me abreast of progress." I end the call and glance up at Anastasia who is looking at me curiously.

"Ready to go?" I ask her.

She nods so I put on my navy jacket and grab my car keys from the table.

"After you, Miss Steele," I say as I open the door, gesturing for her to exit ahead of me. She just stares at me for a few seconds and I wonder what she's thinking. Eventually, she smiles graciously and leaves the room.

We walk in a comfortable silence to the elevator and I press the button to call it. She attempts to glance at me inconspicuously but I catch it and attempt to fight the grin that's trying to break free. She's checking me out again. The elevator doors open and it's empty inside. We enter and turn to face the doors. I press the button for the lobby and we begin our descent. I have a strong feeling of déjà vu, thinking of the last time we were in an elevator together. Only this time we're alone. I can hear her breath catching in her throat and see her chest rise and fall rather rapidly. I glance at her face and she bites that exquisite lip. I can't hold back any longer. And I don't want to.

"Oh, fuck the paperwork," I declare before launching myself at her. I pin her arms above her head with one of my hands and press my hips against hers to keep her restrained against the wall. My free hand pulls her ponytail to tilt her head up to mine. I kiss her hard and passionately, my tongue stroking hers. She tastes delicious; minty. I let go of her ponytail and grab her chin instead. She moans into my mouth and my erection hardens further against her lower stomach.

"You. Are. So. Sweet," I whisper against her mouth. The sound of the elevator's bell alerts me that the doors are about to open, and so I release her quickly. Three men enter the elevator, all wearing small smirks. I attempt to get my erratic breathing under control and gather my composure. I can hear Anastasia's deep breaths beside me and I look down at her, exhaling as I do so. She smirks at me.

"You've brushed your teeth," I comment when the men have exited on the next floor.

"I used your toothbrush," she says, breathily.

I smile. "Oh, Anastasia Steele, what am I going to do with you?" The doors open and I grab her hand and lead her out to the lobby.

"What is it about elevators?" I mutter.


	5. Chapter 5

Chapter 5

We head to my SUV and I open the door for Anastasia. As I'm heading to my side of the car, I see her bring her fingers to her lips and smile slightly. I smirk. I quickly text Andrea on my way around the car. I ask her to email me the NDA, so that I can have an additional copy when Anastasia signs the others. If she signs the others. I had it prepared before I showed up at Clayton's and, although it may be slightly presumptuous, I've been extremely hopeful that the non-disclosure agreement will be needed. I put away my phone and climb into the driver's seat. I shouldn't have kissed her. The plan was to introduce her to the playroom before doing anything. But I can't bring myself to regret it; not really.

I turn on the MP3 player and my ears are met with familiar music.

"What are we listening to?" Anastasia asks.

"It's the Flower Duet by Delibes, from the opera Lakmé. Do you like it?"

"Christian, it's wonderful," she says in an awestruck voice.

"It is, isn't it?" I ask, delighted with her appreciation of it.

"Can I hear that again?" she asks when the music has finished.

"Of course," I say, pressing the button to send the song back to the beginning.

"You like classical music?" she asks.

"My taste is eclectic, Anastasia, everything from Thomas Tallis to Kings of Leon. It depends on my mood. You?"

"Me too. Though I don't know who Thomas Tallis is," she says.

"I'll play it for you sometime. He's a sixteenth century British composer. Tudor, church choral music." I grin, thinking I may sound slightly pretentious. "Sounds very esoteric, I know, but it's also magical, Anastasia," I say.

She simply smiles in response. The music comes to an end and I skip to the next song. The car's interior is filled with the thumping sound of Kings of Leon's Sex on Fire. It's interrupted halfway through by the hands-free ringing.

"Grey," I answer.

"Mr. Grey, it's Welch here. I have the information you require," he says, referring to the security measures he is to enforce on the Egyptian shipment.

"Good. Email it to me. Anything to add?"

"No, sir," he says. I hang up and the music resumes. We're listening to it for approximately 20 seconds before the ringing starts again.

"Grey," I answer.

"The NDA has been emailed to you, Mr. Grey," Andrea tells me.

"Good. That's all, Andrea."

"Good day, sir," she says. I hang up and once again the car is filled with music. The phone rings shortly after. I'm used to receiving phone calls frequently, but not in such quick succession, and I briefly wonder why I'm suddenly so popular at a time when I'm actually enjoying the company I'm keeping. This thought makes me snap when I answer the phone.

"Grey."

"Hi, Christian, d'you get laid?" Elliot's voice asks over the speakers. One-track mind.

"Hello, Elliot – you're on speaker phone, and I'm not alone in the car," I sigh, exasperated with his bluntness.

"Who's with you?" he asks, curiously.

I roll my eyes. I told him I was dropping Anastasia off so he either hasn't read my text or he has the memory of a goldfish. Probably the latter.

"Anastasia Steele."

"Hi, Ana!" Elliot yells, as if they're old friends.

"Hello, Elliot," she replies politely.

"Heard a lot about you," he mumbles. What is that supposed to mean? And why is his tone so suggestive? I frown.

"Don't believe a word Kate says," Anastasia tells him jokingly. He laughs.

"I'm dropping Anastasia off now. Shall I pick you up?" I interrupt.

"Sure," he replies.

"See you shortly," I say before hanging up. The music is back briefly before the song comes to and end and the next one begins. I relax into my seat as the music starts. It's a piece by Nils Frahm called 'For'.

"Why do you insist on calling me Anastasia?" I hear from my side.

I look at her, confused. "Because it's your name."

"I prefer Ana," she says.

"Do you now?" I ask. Anastasia is a beautiful name and I like the way it rolls off the tongue. So much so, I say it aloud. "Anastasia."

I catch her scowl, choose to ignore it and change the subject. "What happened in the elevator – it won't happen again. Not unless it's premeditated," I inform her. It's not like I'll have to wait too long for that. My excitement for tonight and what it will bring grows. I pull up at her apartment building and she gives me a quizzical look, but doesn't say anything. I get out of the car and head to her side.

When I open her door, she murmurs "I liked what happened in the elevator," before ducking her head and exiting the car quickly and before giving me the chance to respond. Not that I would have known what to say anyway. She heads up the steps and into her apartment as I follow behind her. Elliot and Katherine are lounging on the sofa together.

"Hi, Ana," Katherine says as she rises to greet her friend. She hugs Anastasia and then holds her away from her with her arms on Anastasia's on shoulders, studying her from top to toe. She then turns to me.

"Good morning, Christian," she says formally. I was definitely not wrong in my prediction of her displeasure toward me.

"Miss Kavanagh," I reply.

"Christian, her name is Kate," Elliot says, rolling his eyes.

"Kate," I amend, giving her a nod. I turn to glare at Elliot as if to say 'Happy?' he grins, gets up and hugs Anastasia like they're long lost friends.

"Hi, Ana," he says, smiling at her.

"Hi, Elliot," Anastasia replies. She's smiling at him and biting her lip and I'm just a little pissed off at this. I know she's unaware of just how fucking hot she looks when she does that, but I still don't appreciate my brother witnessing it.

"Elliot, we'd better go," I tell him.

"Sure," he mutters before turning to Katherine, gathering her in his arms and kissing her deeply. Anastasia stares at her feet, her hair covering her face, but I know she's blushing. Elliot takes Katherine almost all the way to the floor, still kissing her before eventually rising and planting her back on her feet.

"Laters, baby," he says and she beams at him. I roll my eyes. Typical Elliot.

I look to Anastasia and tuck a piece of hair behind her ear. She leans slightly into my hand and I'm tempted to retract my earlier statement about not kissing her again. I run my thumb over her lower lip, remembering how it tastes. Then I withdraw my hand and say quietly "Laters, baby." She laughs softly. "I'll pick you up at eight," I tell her before turning and walking out onto the porch. Elliot follows behind me to the car and as soon as we're both inside, he says "So?"

"What?" I ask him.

He rolls his eyes at me. "D'you get laid or what?"

"I can tell you did," I say dryly. He grins at me.

"Yeah, she's great, huh? Hot as hell, too," he says. I simply smile in response.

"So, you're seeing Ana again tonight?" he asks.

"Yes."

My brother turns back to face the road with a huge grin on his face and I'm immediately suspicious.

"What are you smiling about?"

"Nothing," he says, still smiling. I shake my head and turn back to the road.

"I wish you'd told me last night that I'd be meeting Kate," Elliot says.

"Why's that?" I ask.

"I could've… you know, came prepared," he says.

"What, like you could have fixed your hair?" I tease.

He laughs. "No, but I didn't bring nearly enough rubbers, we had to get very… creative" he states nonchalantly. I decide to change the subject.

"What are your plans for today?" I ask him.

"Well, I wanted to spend some special family-bonding time with my little brother," he says.

I quickly turn to look at him, my eyes going wide. He tries to keep a straight face, but as he sees my expression, he throws his head back and laughs. I look away from him, rolling my eyes.

"No, seriously though, I've wanted to check out Forest Park for a while," he says, referring to a popular hiking hotspot.

"Sounds good, did you bring your stuff?" I ask him as we pull up to the hotel.

"Yeah, I got a room here yesterday, so I'll head to my room and meet you back here in twenty?"

"Alright," I tell him as we climb out of the car and head up to our rooms to change.

Twenty minutes later, I wait in the car for Elliot. I'm lost in thoughts of tonight when the passenger door opens and my brother climbs in. His outfit is similar to mine; hiking pants, trail running shoes and a black windbreaker.

"Kate said that Ana's not usually one for dating," Elliot remarks casually.

"Oh?" I ask with piqued curiosity.

"Yeah. She didn't say much else though. We didn't have much time for casual conversation, if you know what I mean."

I grimace. I don't know why he feels the need to share such details with me.

"So, how's work?" I ask him, moving on to more comfortable territory.

"Business is good. We've just gained a new client who wants a huge house in Colorado. Kind of like your place in Aspen. Speaking of, how's Carmella?" he asks, referring to the live-in housekeeper of my Aspen home.

"We haven't spoken much since the last time I was out there. I think I might head back soon, it's been too long," I tell him.

He nods. "Why don't you head out there more? You certainly have a flexible schedule," he says.

I shrug and reach over to turn on some music, not wanting to discuss the matter further. Elliot takes over, flicking through songs and eventually settling on In Bloom by Nirvana. Elliot sings the chorus loudly at my side and I laugh at his attempted impersonation of Kurt Cobain. I tap along to the music on the steering wheel and we speak no more until we reach Forest Park.

A little while later, Elliot and I are heading up a walking trail surrounded by lush green grass. The afternoon sun bleeds through the awning of the leaves above and onto our backs as we walk.

"Did you bring any food?" Elliot asks – despite the fact that I clearly have no bag.

"We've only been walking for half an hour," I point out.

"Exactly," he says, deadpan.

I laugh. "No, I didn't bring any food. Do you want to head back already?" I ask him.

He sighs heavily before saying "Nah, I can deal for a little while longer."

We continue walking for about an hour until I realise I'm alone. I look behind me and see a body sprawled out, flattening the moist grass. I shake my head. "What are you doing?" I call to him. He turns to face me and immediately covers his eyes with his hand to prevent the sun from shining in them.

"I'm tired!" he yells.

"This was your idea," I say, heading toward him.

"Not all ideas are good ones, little brother," he says, breathing heavily.

"Well, we still have to walk back to the car," I tell him.

He groans, yawns loudly and eventually stands up.

"How are you so tired?" I ask.

He smiles. "Don't answer that," I tell him quickly as he laughs.

He begins retreating back down the trail, stretching his arms as he goes.

"I guess we're heading back then," I murmur, following behind him.

"Don't act like you don't want to head back, too. You're checking your watch every few minutes. Someone's excited for their date tonight," he says.

I'd argue with him, but… he's right.

At approximately seven thirty, we pull up outside of Clayton's to wait for Anastasia. I asked Taylor to drive so that my heads are free. I said I'd pick her up at eight o'clock, but I came on the off-chance she'd finish her shift early. Taylor puts on some music while we wait for her and we're listening to God's Gonna Cut You Down by Johnny Cash when Anastasia exits the hardware store. As usual, she looks gorgeous. She's wearing black, slim-fitting jeans and a soft green shirt under her dark jacket. I get out of the car so I can greet her and open her door.

I smile. "Good evening, Miss Steele."

"Mr. Grey," she says as she nods her head in acknowledgement.

Once she's in the car, I close her door and quickly head around to the other side. I climb in next to her and my hand immediately finds hers and squeezes.

"How was work?" I ask her.

"Very long," she says and I can hear the reason in her voice. She's been looking forward to tonight. I fight the urge to fist pump the air.

"Yes, it's been a long day for me, too," I tell her honestly.

"What did you do?"

"I went hiking with Elliot," I say as I start to trace her knuckles.

We arrive at the heliport not long later and by the time I reach the other side of the Audi, Anastasia is out. I take her hand in mine again, for some reason immensely enjoying this small contact.

"Ready?" I ask her, wanting to make sure she's okay with flying. She has that deer-in-headlights look, but she still nods. I squeeze her hand again.

"Taylor." I nod at him in parting. Anastasia and I head to the elevator bank and I smirk at the memory of this morning.

"It's only three floors," I tell her, although I probably voiced that aloud for myself just as much as her.

As we step into the elevator, Anastasia closes her eyes and takes a deep breath and I'm immediately worried that she has changed her mind. But then I notice her biting her lip and I'm reassured that she's simply a little nervous – or aroused. I squeeze her hand again in an attempt to calm her and a few seconds later, the elevator doors open to show Charlie Tango.

"Here's your flight plan, Mr. Grey All external checks are done. It's ready and waiting, sir. You're free to go," Joe says when we're in front of his desk.

"Thank you, Joe," I tell him, pleased with his efficiency.

"Let's go."

Approximately 45 minutes later, I land Charlie Tango on the heliport atop Escala. The sound of Anastasia's exhalations filter through our headphones as we sit in silence for brief seconds. I take off both headsets and tell her in a soft voice "We're here."

She looks particularly nervous now and I'm worried that I've proposed this too soon. Perhaps we should have spent more time getting to know each other before I showed her the playroom. I scold myself for my carelessness and lack of consideration with regards to her understandable apprehension. These thoughts are what consume me as I unclip her harness.

"You don't have to do anything you don't want to do. You know that, don't you?" I ask her. I don't want her to feel trapped in this situation. She has to be honest with me if we're going to make this work and that starts now. I want to know how she feels about what tonight will bring. Of course, she doesn't know the full extent of what she's about to experience.

"I'd never do anything I didn't want to do, Christian," she tells me reassuringly and I breathe a slight sigh of relief.

I jump out of Charlie Tango and take Anastasia's hand as she follows. The biting wind whips around us as I put my arm around her waist and we make our way to the roof's elevator.

After a short elevator ride that somehow managed to be the longest of my life at the same time, we arrive in the foyer. I walk forward and open the double doors to allow Anastasia inside. She gazes around, her eyes wide with wonder.

"Can I take your jacket?" I ask, after giving her a few moments to take in her surroundings. She shakes her head, and I'm instantly worried that she may want to leave already.

"Would you like a drink?" I ask. She stares at me blankly for a few seconds, and that nagging thought that she wants to go home persists.

"I'm going to have a glass of white wine, would you like to join me?"

"Yes, please," she says, and I exhale with relief.

I hang my jacket on the back of one of the seats at the breakfast bar and walk over to the fridge while she appreciates the view of the Seattle skyline.

"Pouilly Fumé okay with you?"

"I know nothing about wine, Christian. I'm sure it will be fine," she says as she makes her way to the kitchen. I nod.

"Here," I say, handing her the cold glass and watching as she takes a tentative sip.

"You're very quiet, and you're not even blushing. In fact – I think this is the palest I've ever seen you, Anastasia." She's too quiet, to be honest and I've not even told her anything yet. She looks apprehensive, nervous even and she's getting paler by the second.

"Are you hungry?" I ask, hoping for once she'll eat something. I sigh when she shakes her head.

"It's a very big place you have here," she quietly murmurs, taking another sip of her wine.

"Big?" I ask, amused. It's not an adjective I've used to describe it myself. Of course, she has no idea just how grand this place is yet.

"Big," she reaffirms.

"It's big," I acknowledge. Her eyes wander to the piano in the corner and she lifts her chin slightly.

"Do you play?"

"Yes," I confirm.

"Well?"

"Yes," I state proudly.

"Of course you do. Is there anything you can't do well?"

"Yes... a few things," I tell her cryptically. There's plenty I can't do. I can't cook, or do anything remotely domestic, for that matter. I can't let go of things that happened when I was four years old. I can't love. Yeah, a few things. Of course, I don't tell her any of this. She doesn't need to know. I take in her contemplative expression as she looks around once again.

"Do you want to sit?"

She nods, and I take her hand to lead her to the couch where we sit a metre or so apart. She smiles slightly and I turn to face her properly, resting my head on my hand that's resting on the back of the couch.

"What's so amusing?"

"Why did you give me Tess of the D'Urbervilles specifically?" She asks. Wasn't expecting that. I guess she doesn't want to share the joke. Shit, maybe she doesn't like the books.

"Well, you said you liked Thomas Hardy."

"Is that the only reason?" She asks, and I detect the disappointment in her tone.

"It seemed appropriate. I could hold you to some impossibly high ideal like Angel Clare or debase you completely like Alec D'Urberville," I tell her honestly.

"If there are only two choices, I'll take the debasement," she says quietly and my mouth drops open. Well, someone's finding her voice. She's biting that damned lip again like she has no idea the effect it has on my cognitive capacity.

"Anastasia, stop biting your lip, please. It's very distracting. You don't know what you're saying."

"That's why I'm here."

I frown. I know I need to let her know about the playroom and everything that comes with it, but now that she's addressed the subject, I feel the need to prolong our time together. Surely she'll leave as soon as I open those mahogany doors.

"Yes. Would you excuse me a moment?" I get up and head to my office where the NDA sits in front of the chair at my desk. I pick it up and wait for a few moments, just staring at the paper. This is all new to her. In the past, they knew what this was all about. They knew this life and what it had to offer and they pursued that willingly. This time it's different, and I have to treat it as such. We have to iron out some details in the contract if she agrees to this, and I can't even kid myself into thinking I won't enjoy initiating her into this lifestyle. And that probably makes me the most terrible kind of person to ever be graced with her company.

I grab a pen, return to the couch with the document and shrug as she looks at the paper with curiosity.

I sit down next to her once again.

"This is a non-disclosure agreement… My lawyer insists on it," I tell her quickly. She still looks confused, so I try to explain further.

"If you're going for option two, debasement, you'll need to sign this."

"And if I don't want to sign anything?"

"Then it's Angel Clare high ideals, well, for most of the book anyway."

"What does this agreement mean?"

"It means you cannot disclose anything about us. Anything, to anyone." I tell her firmly. Her mouth drops open and she looks at me, disbelievingly. Oh, shit, this is her reaction now and we haven't even got to the worst part yet…

"Okay. I'll sign." I relax slightly and hand her the pen. She begins to move the pen to the dotted line, but I stop her with my question.

"Aren't you even going to read it?"

"No."

What? I frown at her. "Anastasia, you should always read anything you sign." I tell her sternly.

"Christian, what you fail to understand is that I wouldn't talk about us to anyone, anyway. Even Kate. So it's immaterial whether I sign an agreement or not. If it means so much to you, or your lawyer… whom you obviously talk to, then fine. I'll sign." I stare at her for a few seconds then nod.

"Fair point well made, Miss Steele."

I watch as she signs both agreements, hands one to me and stores the other in her purse. The thought that she has now agreed to keep anything about us confidential allows me to breathe a sigh of relief. Not that I'd get lawyers involved if she breached the contract, but it's still a comforting thought that she won't reveal just what goes on behind the doors of Escala.

"Does this mean you're going to make love to me tonight, Christian?" she asks, seductively.

My mouth drops open before I can stop it and even she looks slightly shocked at her statement. I swallow before answering.

"No, Anastasia, it doesn't. Firstly, I don't make love. I fuck… hard. Secondly, there's a lot more paperwork to do, and thirdly, you don't yet know what you're in for. You could still run for the hills. Come, I want to show you my playroom." I fight the urge to laugh at her surprised expression

"You want to play on your Xbox?" she asks and this time I can't contain the laughter, nor do I attempt to. I laugh loudly as she sits there, looking partly embarrassed and partly annoyed.

Still smiling, I attempt to compose myself.

"No, Anastasia, no Xbox, no Playstation. Come."

I stand up and motion for her to do the same, grabbing her hand and leading her upstairs. When we reach the playroom, I unlock the door before turning to face her.

"You can leave any time. The helicopter is on stand-by to take you whenever you want to go, you can stay the night and go home in the morning. It's fine – whatever you decide."

"Just open the damn door, Christian," she says, clearly fed up with waiting. I nod and open the door, standing back to allow her to enter before me. She looks at me briefly before taking a deep breath and walking inside.

Welcome to my world.


	6. Chapter 6

Chapter 6

We can't stay in here much longer. It's hard enough already being in here with Anastasia without being able to touch her. She remains quiet as she studies everything in the room carefully. She walks over to the flogger and runs her fingertips over the material with curiosity.

"It's called a flogger," I inform her, but she doesn't reply. In fact, I realise, she hasn't said anything since we came into the playroom, and I'm getting worried. What if she runs? God, I hope she doesn't run. We have to get out of here soon; my mind is already racing with the possibilities of what we could do in here.

I'd walk up to her and pull the ponytail holder from her hair, grabbing a fistful of the waves as they cascade over her shoulders. Then I'd tilt her head to the side with the hand that's still in her hair, lean in and kiss the skin between her neck and shoulder. She'd cry out when I sink my teeth into the skin, but her sounds would turn into moans when my tongue soothed the bite. I'd reach around and begin unbuttoning her shirt, my lips never leaving her neck. She'd push back against me with her ass and-

I shake my head to clear my thoughts. I'm getting way ahead of myself again.

"Say something," I tell her. I can't stand her silence any longer. I have to know what she's thinking right now.

"Do you do this to people or do they do it to you?" I smirk. She's asked an easy question first, thank God.

"People?" I pause, trying to formulate an adequate answer. "I do this to women who want me to."

"If you have willing volunteers, why am I here?" She asks.

"Because I want to do this with you, very much." Does she not get this?

"Oh," is her answer.

She wanders over to the bench and runs her fingers over the padding.

"You're a sadist?" She asks.

"I'm a Dominant," I quickly reply. Fuck, I hate that word: 'sadist'. I've certainly used it to describe myself a time or two, but Flynn says it's "no longer recognised as a psychiatric term", so I've avoided referring to myself that way aloud.

"What does that mean?" She asks, her voice quiet and apprehensive.

"It means that I want you to willingly surrender yourself to me, in all things." She frowns at that answer and looks away.

"Why would I do that?" She asks, looking back at me.

"To please me," I reply, my head tilting to the side. I smile slightly at the thought. I've never had to explain this before, and I've not really thought about it. Her mouth drops open, but she closes it just as quickly. She's blinking rapidly, and I can tell that her mind is racing.

"In very simple terms, I want you to want to please me," I tell her.

"How do I do that?" She asks.

"I have rules, and I want you to comply with them. They are for your benefit and for my pleasure. If you follow these rules to my satisfaction, I shall reward you. If you don't, I shall punish you, and you will learn," I tell her. Her eyes wander to the canes as I'm talking and I can see the fear in her gaze. I don't want her to be afraid. She'll understand more once she reads the contract, if she's willing to stick around for that long.

"And where does all this fit in?" She asks, waving her hand around.

"It's all part of the incentive package. Both reward and punishment."

"So you'll get your kicks by exerting your will over me," she says, not in question.

I sigh. "It's about gaining your trust and your respect, so you'll let me exert my will over you. I will gain a great deal of pleasure, joy, even in your submission. The more you submit, the greater my joy – it's a very simple equation."

"Okay, and what do I get out of this?" She asks.

I shrug. "Me." I run my fingers through my hair. To a mind as pure as Anastasia's, this surely does not sound appealing, and I fear I'm going to scare her away before I've even had a chance to introduce her to the lifestyle that I know can be incredibly liberating.

After a few seconds of silence, I say, "You're not giving anything away, Anastasia… Let's go back downstairs where I can concentrate better. It's very distracting having you in here."

I hold out my hand for her to take, but she pauses and just looks at it as if it's the source of all evil. I wanted to avoid this. I thought showing her the playroom instead of just detailing the lifestyle for her would be a way for her to see for herself that, despite popular belief, it's not all about whips and chains and pain.

"I'm not going to hurt you, Anastasia," I say, making direct eye contact so that she can see I'm being truthful. She reaches out and I clasp our hands together before leading her from the playroom.

"If you do this, let me show you," I tell her, pulling her along with me to what I hope will be her room. She follows silently behind me and still doesn't say anything as we reach the room. She looks around, less enthusiastically than she looked downstairs, but still full of wonder. She gazes at the plain white duvet, bare walls and general lack of colour, her mouth twisting slightly. Her face settles into an expression of appreciation as she admires the panoramic view of the Seattle skyline from the large windows. Yet she remains quiet.

"This will be your room. You can decorate it how you like, have whatever you like in here." This gets her attention.

Her eyes widen and she looks at me. "My room? You expect me to move in?" she asks incredulously.

"Not full time," I rush to answer, "Just say, Friday evening through Sunday. We have to talk about all that, negotiate. If you want to do this." Fuck, I hope she does.

"I'll sleep here?" she asks quietly.

"Yes."

"Not with you?" she asks, sounding disappointed.

"No. I told you, I don't sleep with anyone. Except you when you're stupefied with drink." I comment, scolding her. I know I'm being an ass by bringing that up again, but I can't help it. She needs to learn her lesson.

She frowns and looks around the room again, eventually asking, "Where do you sleep?"

"My room is downstairs. Come, you must be hungry."

"Weirdly, I seem to have lost my appetite," she says, and I sigh, detecting her recalcitrance.

"You must eat, Anastasia," I tell her, grabbing her hand and leading her back downstairs.

"I'm fully aware that this is a dark path I'm leading you down, Anastasia, which is why I really want you to think about this. You must have some questions," I comment while walking to the kitchen to prepare our food. She stands at the breakfast bar, clearly away with her thoughts.

"You've signed your NDA, you can ask me anything you want, and I'll answer. Sit," I tell her.

"You mentioned paperwork," she begins.

"Yes."

"What paperwork?"

"Well, apart from the NDA, a contract saying what we will and won't do. I need to know your limits, and you need to know mine. This is consensual, Anastasia."

"And if I don't want to do this?" I stop and look up at her, disappointment crushing my chest.

"That's fine," I say, although it's far from it. It's not fucking fine at all, but what can I do?

"But we won't have any sort of relationship?"

"No."

"Why?"

"This is the only sort of relationship I'm interested in."

"Why?"

I shrug. I'm not going into that, so I simply say, "It's the way I am."

"How did you become this way?" she asks, pushing the subject.

"Why is anyone the way they are? That's kind of hard to answer. Why do some people like cheese and other people hate it? Do you like cheese? Mrs. Jones – my housekeeper – has left this for supper." I'm rambling. I know we have to talk more about the lifestyle and all it entails, but I vehemently want to veer off of the line of questioning that Anastasia is dangerously close to walking down. I turn around and take down plates and set them up on the bar after putting food on them.

"What are your rules that I have to follow?" she asks.

"I have them written down. We'll go through them once we've eaten."

"I'm really not hungry," she says quietly, and I sigh.

"You will eat," I tell her. I'm done silently urging her. She has to eat more or she'll float away. It's a definite possibility.

"Would you like some more wine?"

"Yes, please," she says, managing a small smile.

She grabs her glass of wine as soon as the bottle hits the table again and brings it to her lips.

"Help yourself to food, Anastasia." She takes a few grapes and nothing else and I unintentionally scowl at her hand.

"Have you been like this for a while?" she asks.

"Yes."

"Is it easy to find women who want to do this?"

"You'd be amazed," I tell her. And I've a feeling she would be. Come to think of it, I'm amazed at the ease of which subs can be found.

"Then why me? I really don't understand," she says, looking genuinely confused. Fuck, how can she not get it?

"Anastasia, I've told you. There's something about you. I can't leave you alone. I'm like a moth to a flame. I want you very badly, especially now, when you're biting your lip again."

Fuck, how many times have I told her not to do that? I'm losing my mind here.

"I think you have that cliché the wrong way round," she stays, staring down at her hands.

"Eat!" I command harshly, noticing she's eaten virtually nothing.

She looks at me and tilts her chin defiantly. "No. I haven't signed anything yet, so I think I'll hang on to my free will for a bit longer, if that's okay with you."

I can't help but smile at that remark. Disobedient little temptress.

"As you wish, Miss Steele."

"How many women?" she asks unexpectedly.

"Fifteen," I admit.

Her face remains carefully blank. "For long periods of time?"

"Some of them, yes."

"Have you ever hurt anyone?"

"Yes," I tell her, grimacing at the unpleasant memory.

Her eyes widen and she asks, "Badly?"

"No."

"Will you hurt me?" she asks quietly.

"What do you mean?"

"Physically, will you hurt me?" she clarifies.

"I will punish you when you require it, and it will be painful." She swallows hard at this remark, looking scared and reaching for her glass.

"Have you ever been beaten?" she asks after taking a sip of her wine.

"Yes… Let's discuss this in my study. I want to show you something."

She sets down her wine and walks behind be into the study. I perch on the corner of my desk and pick up the piece of paper that sits in front of my chair. I indicate for Anastasia to take a seat in front of me and she does, looking up at me expectantly. I hand her the paper.

"These are the rules. They may be subject to change. They form part of the contract, which you can also have. Read these rules and let's discuss."

I observe her reaction carefully and watch her face heat as she scans the page.

"Hard limits?" she eventually asks, her apprehension palpable.

"Yes. What you won't do, what I won't do, we need to specify in our agreement."

"I'm not sure about accepting money for clothes. It feels wrong."

"I want to lavish money on you, let me buy you some clothes. I may need you to accompany me to functions, and I want you dressed well. I'm sure your salary, when you do get a job, won't cover the kind of clothes I'd like you to wear."

"I don't have to wear them when I'm not with you?" she asks.

"No."

"Okay."

I smile at her concession. Although, if she has issues with accepting clothes, I dread to see her reaction to the car. She'll come around. Hopefully.

"I don't want to exercise four times a week."

I sigh. "Anastasia, I need you supple, strong and with stamina. Trust me, you need to exercise."

"But surely not four times a week, how about three?"

"I want you to do for," I insist.

"I thought this was a negotiation," she counters, raising a brow. God, she's exasperating.

"Okay, Miss Steele, another point well made. How about an on hour three days and one day half an hour?"

"Three days, three hours. I get the impression you're going to keep me exercised when I'm here."

She makes a good point. I certainly intend to do just that. "Yes, I am. Okay, agreed. Are you sure you don't want to intern at my company? You're a good negotiator," I say, only half joking.

"No, I don't think that's a good idea," she says, breaking eye contact.

"So, limits. These are mine," I say, handing her another piece of paper. Her mouth drops open as she scans the list of hard limits.

"Is there anything you'd like to add?" I ask her.

She looks up, wide-eyed and clearly lost for words. I frown. She must have some idea what she likes and doesn't like.

"Is there anything you won't do?"

"I don't know," she says, still with that deer-in-the-headlights look on her face.

"What do you mean you don't know?"

"I've never done anything like this before," she says, biting that damn lip again.

"Well, when you've had sex, was there anything you didn't like doing?"

She looks down, embarrassed, and her cheeks turn that delectable pink colour.

"You can tell me, Anastasia. We have to be honest with each other or this isn't going to work."

She twists her fingers in her lap and doesn't look up.

"Tell me." My voice comes out harsher than I intended, but she's clearly hiding something, and I want to know what.

That's when she drops the bomb.

"Well… I've not had sex before, so I don't know."

FUCK! Oh, fuck, fuck, fuck. What the fuck? How the fuck can a 21-year-old who looks like that still be a virgin? FUCK.

"Never?" I ask, needing clarification. She simply shakes her head.

"You're a virgin?" I ask, thinking she's going to tell me that she's just kidding. She nods, and I close my eyes, attempting to calm down before opening them again. It doesn't work.

"Why the fuck didn't you tell me?"


End file.
